


Put to Flight

by bigblackdog



Series: Holding Out [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Christmas, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Raising Harry Potter, and christmas angst, but it's really sweet i promise, or as one reader suggested, queer catholic screaming into the void, queer catholicism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-22 15:38:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17062427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigblackdog/pseuds/bigblackdog
Summary: It’s December 8th and Remus has five days until he gives his students exams, seven days until he meets with his advisor, one hour to finish this reading, 27 minutes until the laundry needs to be moved to the dryer, two hours until Harry’s bedtime, and two hours and the time it takes to brush his teeth before he can crawl into bed.In the back of his frazzled and overworked mind, he’s also aware that he has 16 days to try to make this Christmas less of an unmitigated disaster than the last.





	1. chapter one

**Author's Note:**

> hi! i've always wanted to write an advent fic. i told ebp it would be an exercise in writing fluff and taking a break from worrying about What It All Means. and then 25 fluffy chapters about decorating cookies became 5 chapters about weird christmas feelings and a lot of smut. as per my usual. 
> 
> i'm trying to get it all posted before the 25th.

 

_ Remus lifts his mother’s arm and wiggles underneath it, pulling her hand over in front of his face. She smells good, and her sweater is soft. It’s one of the quiet parts but Remus doesn’t mind because he likes tilting his head all the way back to look at the high high ceiling, maybe as high as the beanstalk in Jack and the Giant, definitely all the way up to the sky. That’s why there are little gold stars on it. Because it’s up in the sky. _

 

_ Remus looks back down, letting his chin thunk into his chest. And then tries it a few more times, just to see. Then he looks at his mum’s hand, now on his arm, pulling him close to her. Her hands have blue lines-- veins, Remus remembers-- and the blue veins stick up. Remus tentatively presses a finger on top of one and looks up at his mum. She hasn’t noticed. His little finger pushes around, and! He can move them! Mum has little rivers in her hands.  _

 

_ Her hand moves. It’s time to stand. Remus stands up too, on the little step. He leans his tummy into the bench in front of him and almost loses his balance. He looks up at his mum again, she’s saying something and crossing herself and Remus leans into her and puts his fingers to his forehead and mouth and chest too. _

 

***

 

“Are you  _ crying _ ?” Remus asks, taking in the scene: Sirius on the couch folding laundry, Bowie’s Christmas single playing, tears in his eyes. 

 

“Piss off!” Sirius says, throwing a pair of Remus’ pants at him and grinning. “‘For my child and your child too!’” He shouts at Remus. “Have a heart Remus,  _ for the children _ .”

 

“God, you’re such a sap,” Remus says, dumping his bag at the door and crossing the room to kiss Sirius. Harry runs over and climbs into Sirius’ lap, wiggling himself in between them and shouting. The kind of shouting giggles that mean he wants to tumble around and get held upside down, but there isn’t time right now. 

 

“We need to leave--” Remus checks his watch, “Shit! Like five minutes ago. Get dressed! He can’t wear footies to mass.”

 

“Why are you saying mass? I thought it was church.”

 

“It is,” Remus says shortly. He doesn’t have the patience to explain this when they’re going to be late and Harry is in footies with a sizeable chocolate milk splash down the front. He takes Harry and says to Sirius, “Go get dressed.”

 

Sirius looks down at himself, puzzled. He’s wearing tight denims and a well loved T. Rex shirt and he looks like sex on legs. 

 

“Something more formal.”

 

“The only thing I have more formal than this is my school robes. Would you prefer those?”

 

Remus just groans, running up the stairs into Harry’s nursery only to remember that all of Harry’s clean laundry is still downstairs on the couch. He runs back down the stairs, Harry squealing from all the running around and searches frantically through the pile for anything besides chocolate milk footies. 

 

“Why are we doing this?” Sirius shouts from the bedroom.

 

It’s a fair question. Poor Sirius with his wizarding background, the mysteries of attending church are already a bit of a stretch, add in that Remus is clearly irritable about the whole thing and one wonders why they’re rushing around on a Tuesday night worrying about nice looking jumpers and getting across the city. 

 

“Because my mum asked me if I was going to church today,” Remus grits out, wrestling Harry’s kicking legs into his overalls, which are the best he can do.

 

Sirius jogs down the stairs, wearing a smart green jumper and holding Harry’s coat. “God, come here,” Remus says, tugging Sirius in for a quick kiss. “I don’t know why I’m doing this.”

 

“And what’s today?”

 

“The Feast of the Immaculate Conception.”

 

“Oh I know this! Something with Jesus’ mum not having sex.”

 

“Wow. Did you really get an O in Muggle Studies? No. It’s that Mary was conceived without original sin.”

 

“And original sin is..?”

 

“A load of bullshit. Right. Are you ready to go?”

 

“Yep.” Sirius kisses Remus’ forehead, hoists Harry into his arms and they’re out the door. 

  
  


They’re only a little late, slipping into the hushed pews beside his mother just as the organ starts up signaling the procession. Harry is awed by the sound and looking around wide eyed for the source. 

 

Remus’ mum squeezes his hand and holds up the hymnal book so they can both see the words. Remus is very conscious of not looking at Sirius, not touching Sirius. His stomach clenches at the thought he’ll forget and slip his hand into Sirius’, or lean over and wrap an arm around his waist, tucking himself into the solidity of his presence. 

 

Instead, Remus tries to sink himself into the heavy smell of incense and the candles flickering under the statue of Mary to the right of the altar. He stands up when he’s supposed to and crosses himself when he’s supposed to and says the right words at the right times because repetition is stronger than belief or disbelief. 

 

But his mind wanders, wanders over to Sirius sitting next to him, baffled and bouncing Harry on his knees so he doesn’t fuss. 

 

He tries to think through the paper he needs to write tonight, plan his work load for tomorrow, aggressively trying to fill his head with school because he’s not going to sit here and feel bad about all the ways he’s sinned. 

 

And he doesn’t. He’s well past feeling bad about wanking or loving Sirius or thinking of lycanthropy as some kind of divinely decided holy suffering to get into heaven.

 

But the repetition of penance prickles and itches and won’t leave him alone and he looks at his mum’s hands and thinks of how much he loves her, and then how much he loves Sirius and then finds himself inventing morbid visions of himself at the cottage in the Fens, weeping at the kitchen table over Sirius, bright, howling, hungry Sirius, lost to him, killed by Peter maybe. Harry living at the Dursley’s. He worms his way through the dark invented melodrama, digesting the love he has for Sirius and their life with Harry. He wants to feel how much it would hurt if he didn’t have that life, a sickly satisfying prodding at the sore tooth of every circle of hell. 

 

Harry starts to fuss and Remus finally looks up from his dazed vigil over his mum’s hands and watches Sirius quietly shuffle out of the pew bouncing Harry in his arms out to the lobby where he can cry as loudly as he wants. 

 

He stands, he sits, he kneels, he stands, he walks, he kneels. Sirius comes back, walking slowly up the aisle with his hands in his pockets and letting Harry run on his pudgy legs to his Nana. Sirius sits down, and Remus can feel him so palpably at his back while he kneels. He’s kneeling for Sirius, for something he never thought he’d have and his gratitude swells, panging and aching as it rushes up because he’d like to press himself into Sirius’ side and tuck his sorry head in the crook of Sirius’ neck and feel something as close to prayer as Remus can get. But he can’t here.

 

He leans into his mum instead, sitting next to him smelling like the restaurant, her head bent with tears in her eyes. Remus always leaves mass feeling wrung out and crooked, but there are moments watching his mum pray, goodness pouring off of her, that don’t carve him out. Moments when witnessing all the love his mother carries and the ways she spins it out into the world feels worth the hour of endurance. 

 

They sit again, kneelers banging up, the pews creaking and groaning, the sounds of pages flipping, purses picked up and then  _ O Come, O Come Emmanuel _ starts up on the organ; the sound of heart breaking longing, a sound Remus was raised on.

 

Harry is sitting on the ground and has started to play with the kneeler, pushing it up and letting it slam back down again and they let him until a severe looking man in front of them turns around with a pointed and self-righteous stare. Remus picks Harry up, feeling annoyed and Sirius starts bundling them all up into coats, first Harry, then helping Remus slide his coat on. 

 

It’s sweet and normal, a gesture that happens all the time in the course of their day but right now Remus feels observed, wonders if it’s too revealing, if the the man is wondering about these two men and the child they came with. He feels stiff and prickly and doesn’t feel better until they’re back out on the streets of London, exhaust fumes and beer in the air. 

 

Remus’ mum leans up to kiss his cheek and whispers to him, “Thank you for coming.”

 

His stomach clenches; he feels guilty he doesn’t like it and can’t pray the way his mother does. 

  
They bundle Harry into the carrier on Remus’ chest and all pile onto the bike. Remus sitting behind Sirius with Harry tucked snugly between them. He presses his cheek to Sirius’ back and closes his eyes on the way home, feeling the cold wind on his nose and hugging on to Sirius as tightly as he can, a mournful  _ Rejoice _ resounding in his head. 


	2. chapter two

_ Remus wakes up in the shack, warm and comfortable, which is weird. He sits up and sees Padfoot curled up at the end of the lumpy bed.  _

 

_ “Pads,” he says, voice hoarse from sleep and also howling.  _

 

_ Padfoot perks his head up and shuffles forward in that doggy way and noses his head underneath Remus’ arm.  _

 

_ “You’re supposed to be at the Potters’,” Remus says sleepily, he’s having trouble working everything out, even though it’s fairly obvious. Sirius is here because he came here and that’s that. Remus digs his fingers into Padfoot’s thick fur.  _

 

_ “You were here all night?” _

 

_ Padfoot licks Remus’ hand, which he understands as a yes.  _

 

_ Remus falls asleep again and when he wakes up he’s tucked too tightly in the starched crisp sheets of the hospital wing.  _

 

_ He wonders if he dreamed up Padfoot this morning until he hears Sirius’ low voice on the other side of the privacy curtain.  _

 

_ “I’ve told you, Mr. Black. Absolutely not. He needs to recover,” Madame Pomfrey says in a sharp whisper. _

 

_ “Please. I’ll make him stay in bed. I’ll give him all the potions at the right times! I’ve seen you do it a thousand times. Please Madame Pomfrey.”  _

 

_ For a moment there’s just the soft click of glass bottles, like she’s restocking potions and has wisely decided to ignore Sirius. Sirius likes to conceive of himself as an unstoppable whirlwind but Remus knows Madame Pomfrey better than any of them, knows she has an iron will stronger than even McGonagall.  _

 

_ Sirius murmurs something Remus can’t quite hear and the clinking stops.  _

 

_ “Please,” he says again, “Just this once and I’ll never bother you again. It’s Christmas.” _

 

_ “You’re going to write out the times and dosage of every potion before you leave. And I don’t want you in here disturbing Remus’ recovery for the rest of the school year.” _

 

_ “You won’t see me,” Sirius promises and Remus smiles at the particular phrasing. _

 

_ Sirius pokes his head around the curtain, eyes alight. “Alright there Moony?” _

 

_ “Oh just marvelous,” Remus says drily.  _

 

_ “Get dressed, we’ll be out of here in a tick.”  _

 

_ When Remus wakes up again it’s to the soft glow of fading afternoon light and the warm comfort of Sirius’ body next to his. He’s reading and still for once. Remus has no desire to be awake; he snuggles a bit closer to Sirius and pulls the covers up over his head.  _

 

_ “Come out of there and take your potion so Madame Pomfrey doesn’t kill me.” _

 

_ “I can’t believe she agreed to this. I hope you didn’t slip her a Befuddling Brew.” _

 

_ “It’s Christmas Moony. Some people’s cold frozen hearts thaw today.” _

 

_ “It’s too cold to thaw,” Remus says, holding the blankets tightly over his head in case Sirius tries to yank them off.  _

 

_ Sure enough, Remus feels a sudden tug and shouts a triumphant “HA!” when he manages to hold on. He can feel Sirius flop down on the bed beside him, fingers working to worm their way under the blankets.  _

 

_ “Mooooony, take your potion.”  _

 

_ “No.” Remus doesn’t know why he’s refusing, except that Sirius is here and taking care of him and it’s making him feel giddy and playful. _

 

_ “Come on,” Sirius wheedles, “Take your potion and I’ll warm you up.” _

 

_ Remus peeks out of the blankets. “You mean--?” _

 

_ “I  _ mean _.” Sirius says emphatically, leaving no room for misinterpretation.  _

 

_ Remus starts to stretch out to sit up and feels a sharp pain in his hip, like maybe a tendon was overextended, and reality catches up with him. He sits up slowly, carefully, easing his weight onto his left side. _

 

_ “That’s it. Knew I could entice you. Don’t know why Madame Pomfrey doubted me for a moment,” Sirius chatters, unstoppering a vial of Anti-Swelling Solution and measuring out the dosage.  _

 

_ Remus digs his fingers into the blankets. He’s never said no before, he’s always desperately wanted anything Sirius will give him and he’s terrified any show of reluctance will put a stop to the whole thing, like one wrong tap to a stack of exploding snap cards. This thing between them is fragile, held up only by meaningful looks and half finished sentences.  _

 

_ Remus takes his potion quietly, breaking out in cold shivers as the freezing potion sinks into his stomach.  _

 

_ Sirius gets into bed and shimmies closer, “Least you could do is share the blankets,” he jokes.  _ _ And then, “What’s wrong?” _

 

_ “I don’t think I can tonight.” _

 

_ “Share the blankets?” _

 

_ Remus shakes his head. _

 

_ “Oh,” Sirius says. “You don’t feel good?” _

 

_ Remus shakes his head again, staring down at the red quilt. “It’s my hip. Hurts.” _

 

_ “Oh.”  _

 

_ There’s a loose thread on the quilt and Remus picks at it. Sarcastic solutions ping around his head-- _ Hey thanks for coming all this way, want a game of chess? _ \-- stupid.  _

 

_ “Lay back,” Sirius says, touching his shoulder lightly.  _

 

_ Remus finally looks up at Sirius. _

 

_ “Just lay back, come on, trust me,” Sirius says smiling the same smile as always when he says that. _

 

_ Remus lays back down on the bed, Sirius leaning over him. “What if…” Sirius rolls his lip under his teeth. “What if you just laid still?” _

 

_ Remus panics. This isn’t how this usually goes-- broom closets and caved in tunnels, trousers unzipped and barely pushed down, one ear listening for footsteps, fast, blindingly good frotting.  _

 

_ He doesn’t know what to do in a bed, with time, with privacy, without reciprocating somehow.  _

 

_ “Let me,” Sirius starts, moving in between Remus’ legs and gently, so carefully easing Remus’ pajama bottoms down. “Let me just,” he whispers, before lowering his mouth to Remus’ cock.  _

 

***

 

Remus wakes up to Harry crawling over him on the bed and squishing into the small space between Sirius and himself. Sirius yawns and throws an arm over Harry and they both go back to sleep. Remus has no such luck. He sits up carefully, leaning against the headboard and wonders what time it is. It’s still night-time dark and there’s a light patter of rain.

 

At least it’s Saturday and Remus might be able to sneak in a nap at the same time as Harry. If Harry goes down to nap today. 

 

He strokes Harry’s wild hair and thinks about everything he has to do. Remus has just one more week of term and a mountain of work separating him from the holiday break. If he gets his students’ grades in this afternoon he’ll have a few days to comb through his own paper before he meets with Dr. Doge on Wednesday. Then maybe he’ll finally have time to tackle the mounting list of Christmas chores-- Sirius wants to make cookies but they don’t have any cookie cutters, they still haven’t got a tree or shopped for Harry’s presents, his mum wants a photo all together and he suspects she wants them to dress nicely for it. Matching jumpers or something else ridiculous. 

 

Remus sighs, scrubbing his face. He’s going to need a large pot of coffee to get through today. 

 

The clock in the kitchen says it’s 5:00 in the morning and Remus is trying to comfort himself with thoughts that at least he’ll be able to work without distraction for a little while when he hears a roar from upstairs and squealing giggles. “I’m gonna get you!” Christ, how does he have so much energy in the mornings? Both of them. It’s inhuman. 

 

“Nooo! No Pa-foo!” Harry yells, pounding quickly down the stairs and barreling into Remus’ legs, reaching his arms to be picked up. 

 

Remus hoists him up. “Good morning Harry.” 

 

Harry throws his arms around Remus’ neck and bounces up and down squealing at the sounds of Sirius still shouting from upstairs. Remus is certain he’s still in bed and very much not coming to get Harry, which is patently unfair.

 

“Sirius!” Remus yells up the stairs. “We need pancakes!”

 

“Pa-cay!” 

 

“Pancake,” Remus says to Harry, enunciating the consonants clearly like the speech therapist told them to do. Harry is speaking so much more, babbling all the time really, but the delay in learning means he’s having trouble getting ahold of some of the trickier sounds-- the speech therapist explained it all to them, with diagrams of tongues and everything. “Pancake,” Remus says again. 

 

“Pa-caaa-ke,” Harry tries again, the ‘k’ sound touching down quick as a cornish pixie, but Remus knows he heard it. 

 

“That’s it, Harry. Pancake.” They’ll work on that ‘n’ later. He sets Harry down, “Go tell Padfoot we need pancakes.”

 

Harry takes this direction very seriously and runs up the stairs shouting “pa-cake! pa-cake!” 

 

Remus can hear the sounds of Sirius roaring and tickling Harry again while he makes coffee.

 

Remus settles on the couch, allowing himself to savor his cup of coffee before starting in on the grading. Harry and Sirius are in the kitchen making a mess and maybe also making breakfast.

 

He’s missed spending long days with Harry and Sirius. Over the summer with both of them home there was often clean laundry  _ and _ food in the fridge and sometimes time to spare to take Harry to the park together or start reading and end up watching Harry build with his blocks. Little moments that slip into his memories and mix up with all the other small moments of pleasure so that Remus can’t remember any of them without feeling the diffuse, cumulative warmth of the whole of them.

 

They take a chance and eat their pancakes piled on the couch. Harry weirdly doesn’t like syrup which lessens the chances of disaster by at least 60%. He gets bored after two bites of pancake and wriggles away to play.

 

Sirius kicks his foot out and hits Remus’ knee. 

 

“Ow! What?” 

 

“Nothing, just, Andromeda is going to watch Harry this weekend.”

 

“What? What’s happening?” It’s hard, even after all these months, not to feel like Harry is in danger. 

 

“Oh god! Nothing,” Sirius says frantically. “Shit. Nothing! Saying it all wrong, aren’t I?”

 

“I’ll let you know when you actually say it.”

 

“It’s your Christmas present, and mine, really. We’re going on a trip. Just over to Cornwall.”

 

“Without Harry?”

 

“Right.”

 

Remus watches Harry for a moment, he’s laying on the floor on his tummy so that he’s eye level with the miniature Hogwarts Express train he’s playing with. He hasn’t been away from Harry since that disastrous day last Christmas. He cringes. 

 

“Do you think we should?” Remus certainly wouldn’t mind a little time alone with Sirius, something they haven’t had since long before they finally figured themselves out, but it makes Remus feel selfish and guilty, not wanting Harry around, because he does want Harry around, more than anything, also he has so much work to do before Wednesday, and all the Christmas shite too. It’s too much.

 

Sirius winds an arm around Remus and pulls him closer. “We’ve left him with Andy before and he was fine. I think it’s fine.”

 

“Is she sure?”

 

“It’s uh, actually Andy who suggested it. Told me couples need time to ‘get to know each other’ before kids. She was taking the piss out of me, but the point still stands.”

 

“Uh huh. Get to know each other.” Like they haven’t lived in each other’s back pockets since they were eleven. 

 

“Maybe we don’t know  _ everything _ about each other,” he says suggestively.

 

Remus glances toward Harry, he’s abandoned the train and become very engrossed in tossing everything out of his diaper bag. “You’re taking me on a weekend sex getaway?” Remus asks, laughter behind his words.

 

“Don’t make it sound so dubious. It’s a very nice place, not just for sex. Unless that’s what you want,” Sirius grins. “We could sleep through the night for once or do the crossword. I don’t know. You could say thank you.” 

 

Remus leans back to look at Sirius’ face. “But…”  _ But I left _ , Remus thinks and knows it’s ridiculous, but the calcified kernel of that particular shame is still lodged sharply in his chest. 

 

“Remus,” Sirius gathers him up, “It’s okay.” And he says it so quietly and with such gravity that Remus suspects he  _ knows, _ and it makes Remus melt, being so known by Sirius. 

 

“All right. Let’s go get to know each other.” 

  
  


Andromeda shows up precisely on time in the midst of a whirlwind of frantic packing and taking out the trash and checking the fridge to make sure nothing horrible grows in the day and half they’ll be gone which might seem like overkill but they discover green fuzzy horrors in there with some frequency, so. 

 

“There are more diapers in the hall closet if you need them,” Sirius tells Andromeda. 

 

Andromeda smiles what Remus now recognizes as the smile she uses when she’s too polite to roll her eyes. “I’m sure we’ll be fine.”

 

Their bags are packed and they’ve probably taken care of everything in the flat that might smell unholy by tomorrow night. Andromeda is holding Harry and he looks fine.  _ He’s fine,  _ Remus tells himself firmly.

 

“And he hasn’t had a bottle at bedtime for a while but he might want one if he’s upset.”

 

“Mm hmm,” she hums, mouth pursed like she’s trying not to laugh at them. 

 

Remus tugs on Sirius’ sleeve, feeling distinctly embarrassed about their scrambling and their nervousness and Andromeda knowing they’re leaving to have “grown up time.” 

 

“Let’s go,” he mumbles, face hot. 

 

Sirius hugs Andromeda and hugs Harry and Remus hugs Harry and Andromeda smiles that smile and they hug Harry again and shuffle out the door, closing it as Harry’s little face starts to screw up when he realizes they’re leaving. 

 

They can hear him crying through the door. 

 

“It’s fine. It’s completely normal,” Sirius says firmly, but Remus knows they’re both feeling off balance. 

 

They grip each others’ hands tightly all the way down the stairs and out into the cold, misting rain and apparate into a cold, driving rain outside a gray stone hotel with tidy rows of windows, salt thick in the air. 

 

Instead of using the front doors Sirius hurries through the rain, tugging Remus along and dodging puddles, to a small green door on the side of the hotel. Remus drops Sirius’ hand.

 

“Should we..?” Remus starts, hoping Sirius will get it, but Sirius just stares at him through the rain like he’s being daft. “You know… go in separately?”

 

To Remus’ surprise Sirius grins. “The owner of the wizarding side of this fine establishment was a dear old friend of Uncle Alphard’s.” 

 

They crowd into a cupboard of a reception room, damp and shivering, and a man with an impressive mustache and a pointed wizard’s hat with sparkling holly berries around the brim greets them. Remus stands behind Sirius and watches a never-melt icicle sleigh and reindeer circle the room above their heads and only moments later they’re flooing up to their room.  

 

Remus steps out of the floo, dry now from the fire, and stands on the hearth, a bit at a loss-- what are they supposed to  _ do  _ now? there’s no tidying or grocery shopping or grading-- until Sirius completes his excited circuit of the room and comes to collect him, pushing Remus over to the bed and collapsing half on top of him. 

 

He slowly sinks into the soft mattress, sinks into the sweet and slightly toasty smell of Sirius’ hair. He closes his eyes and slips his hands under Sirius’ shirt, smoothing both palms over his ribs. He thinks of last year and a Sirius so thin he could see the jut of his ribs even under his clothes and clutches him tightly, feeling only a welcome softness there now. 

 

“Mmm,” Remus hums, “How ‘bout we stay right here the whole weekend?”

 

“Fine by me,” Sirius answers, voice muffled in Remus’ neck.


	3. chapter three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is titled "sirius church dirty talk" in my google doc. if uh, you think you might be offended by discussion of a very sacrilege fantasy, you might want to skip the second half of the chapter.

_Remus follows his mum out of church, pausing over the holy water on his way out. He’s performed this ritual without a thought every week his whole life: a shallow dip into warm, cloudy water, the sign of the cross dashed across his body, and onward._

 

 _And now that he’s thinking about it, he’s thinking maybe he won’t. Maybe he shouldn’t dip into holy water after spending mass trying to squash down thoughts of boys-- his friends, Christ-- changing in their dormitory, and carefully trying not to look at anyone coming and going in the showers, the deal he’s made with himself that he can masturbate but only if he’s not thinking of_ that _._

 

_He didn’t want to be thinking those things underneath a mostly naked Christ hanging on the cross. He didn’t want to be thinking those things next to his mum. But not wanting to think them called them forth, and Remus doesn’t want to go to church anymore but he’ll never tell his mum that._

 

_He skips the holy water._

 

_His mum is waiting for him outside, giving him that fond look she always has when he comes home from school for holidays._

 

_“Up for a bit of shopping?” she asks Remus. “I wouldn’t mind if you’d rather go home.”_

 

_“What do you need?”_

 

_“A bit of this a bit of that for Christmas dinner.”_

 

_“I’ll come.” Remus misses his mum when he’s at school, and he’s the kind of boy that doesn’t pretend he hasn’t when he comes home._

 

_They take the tube, finding seats as it’s still early morning on a Sunday._

 

_“Well, are you going to tell me about your semester?” his mum asks in a teasing voice._

 

_Remus immediately thinks of the last two full moons and leaving the Shack for the first time, running through the Forbidden Forest with Padfoot, Prongs, and Wormtail. He’s fairly sure his mum would have some strong objections._

 

_But he wants to tell her. He wants to tell her about the animagus transformation, how difficult and dangerous it is and how overwhelmed he feels thinking of his friends risking so much to keep him company. He wants to tell her how much better the transformations are, how he doesn’t bite or scratch himself nearly as much when he has a big black dog to tussle with. He wishes it was as simple as seeing the relief on her face that he’s hurting less._

 

_He even wants to tell her he’s noticing Sirius’ hands and can’t stop. And that, coming from Hogwarts where things fly and transform from one thing to another with the flick of a wand, this whole God thing is falling flat for him._

 

_But he doesn’t tell her any of those things. Because those things certainly wouldn’t bring any relief. They only have the three weeks together and Remus doesn’t fancy carrying on the kinds of conversations that would inevitably pop up were he to say my friends and I are doing something dangerous and illegal and I’m not going to stop, also I might be gay and I don’t believe in God anymore._

 

_He shrugs his shoulders. “Same as always,” he tells her, and sits with the ache of those secrets._

 

_Despite the quiet emptiness of the train, Tesco is packed. They stand just inside the entrance for a moment taking stock of the empty trolley corral, the towering stacks of jarred mince and bags of flour with holiday special signs proclaiming savings, the Christmas music playing a little too loudly._

 

_As the long stretch of “Oh light divine,” is sung out with quivering confidence one of the fluorescent bulbs above the door starts flickering weakly. Remus and his mum look at each other, and finding their mirth mirrored in each other at the juxtaposition of the Star of Bethlehem and the fluorescent bulbs of Tesco, start laughing._

 

_His mum puts an arm around his shoulders, having to reach up now to do so, and squeezes him to her side._

 

_“I’m so happy you’re home, sweetheart.”_

 

_Remus squeezes back and the gap of everything he’s not telling her feels smaller for now. He’s happy to be home too._

 

***

 

When Remus wakes up Sirius is doing the crossword in bed in just his pants.

 

“Morning,” Sirius says cheerfully, lowering the paper to look at Remus.

 

He sits up slowly, feeling disoriented and rumpled. There’s sleep sand pricking at the edges of his eyes and he can’t remember the last time he slept long enough for that to happen.

 

“What time is it?” he asks croakily.

 

“I have no idea,” Sirius answers.

 

Remus crawls over and inserts himself under Sirius’ arm, snuggling his head into the crook of Sirius' shoulder and angling himself toward the wide window looking out on the sea. Sirius kisses his temple and returns to the crossword, filling in the answer for 14 down.

 

It’s quiet. The pleasant scratch of Sirius’ quill against the paper, a light and intermittent patter of rain, a continuous stream of clouds sweeping quickly over the coastline.

 

Remus isn’t sure if a couple minutes pass or an hour but eventually he notices a cup of coffee on the bedside table, still steaming under a warming charm.

 

He tilts his head up toward Sirius. “Did you get me coffee?”

 

“Mmhm,” Sirius hums distractedly, quill counting out the squares for 6 across.

 

“God I love you."

 

Sirius pauses to look down at Remus, laughing. “I love you too.”

 

Remus snuggles even closer and does the lazy thing and _accios_ his coffee over. He sips his coffee and watches the clouds. Sirius scratches away at his crossword, slipping his arm around Remus to stroke his fingers lightly just under the edge of Remus’ tee shirt and Remus catches himself sighing contentedly with some frequency.

 

“What do you think Harry is doing?” Remus asks.

 

“Demanding piggy backs from Nym.”

 

Remus laughs. “Definitely. She gives in too easily.”

 

“Well this weekend ought to toughen her up.”

 

“What should we do?”

 

“There’s the monastery at St. Michael’s Mount,” Sirius says.

 

Remus wrinkles his nose. “No. No more church until Christmas, please.”

 

“I thought you might feel that way.”

 

“Did you want to go?”

 

“No. I’d rather go to Tintagel. Read there’s a wizarding museum on Merlin up there.”

 

Remus “oo’s” with interest.

 

“Or,” Sirius says, setting his paper aside.

 

“Or?”

 

He shifts to kiss Remus’ ear. “Or we could stay here and shag all day.”

 

Remus pulls Sirius over and hums into a hard kiss. “We could do that. Yeah.”

 

They kiss for a long time; Remus’ favorite kind of kisses. Slow, sucking kisses, their mouths open against each other and pressed together hard.

 

Sirius breaks away and pants into Remus’ neck. “You know, I liked sitting in church with you the other day.”

 

“I can’t imagine why.”

 

“Got me hot.”

 

“Oh God,” Remus groans and clutches Sirius closer. “Did it really?”

 

Sirius hums again. “It’s not allowed, right? They’re like purebloods?”

 

Remus knows exactly what “it” is that’s not allowed. “Right.”

 

“Right. Yeah. I sort of felt like we were infiltrating enemy lines. Right under their noses. I was sitting there thinking about all the dirtiest things I could.”

 

“Oh my God,” Remus groans again, digging his fingers so hard into Sirius’ back that the tips of them ache. He was sitting in church, with Harry, with his mum, thinking up dirty fantasies, and the way he says it, like there’s nothing wrong with that, like he didn’t pause for even a second to worry about being a dirty pervert-- Remus’ cock is throbbing. “Tell me,” he demands, voice rough. “Tell me what you were thinking.”

 

Sirius presses his hot mouth to Remus’ ear and starts whispering, “I was thinking about being your whore. Anywhere you’d want it you could bend me over and fuck my hole and I’d do it.”

 

“Yeah,” Remus pants, shifting so he can rub his hard on against Sirius’ leg. “Yeah, you’re such a whore.”

 

This is still new-- Remus is still learning Sirius, how much he wants to be used, called names, stroked and loved and taken care of.

 

Sirius groans, shuddering. “Yeah. Just your whore. And you’d tell me to get on my knees right there in the pews, right in the middle of that talking part, and fuck my throat. Really fuck my throat hard. And people wouldn’t notice at first, because you’re holding my head down in your lap, fucking my throat. But then I start moaning because I’m such a dirty slut, I like it so much, right? And everyone starts turning around and leaning over to see. And some of them are shocked but some of them are into it, they can’t help it, they’re all watching me get fucked. They’re touching themselves and I’m drooling all over your lap, you’re fucking my throat so hard, just using me Remus, like I’m just a fuck toy for you.”

 

Remus is panting and grinding himself into Sirius’ leg. “God. Fuck. Keep going.”

 

Sirius reaches a hand down into his pants and starts pulling himself off. “Yeah. Yeah Moony, you like it, huh? Being such a dirty fuck in church?” Remus groans. “Yeah. The priest would start to notice, all these people turning around to look and he’d come see too. He wants it too. Poor fuck, he’s never had sex and your cock looks so good he’s drooling over it, he kneeling with me and begging to suck your cock. Everyone wants to get fucked by you, they’re dying for it. Should he suck it Moony? Poor bastard, he’s never had a good cock.”

 

“Yeah. Yeah-- but you’re sucking it too,” Remus says, and then, thinking it’s what Sirius wants to hear, says firmly, “Keep sucking slut.”

 

Sirius cries out and comes, panting heavily against the side of Remus’ face.

 

“God, don’t stop,” Remus begs.

 

“No. No, I won’t stop,” Sirius says, still panting and pulling his come covered hand out of his pants to press it firmly to Remus’ crotch for him to grind into, smearing his cum all over Remus’ pants. “Won’t stop. Such a slut for it you can’t get me to stop and me and the priest we’re just licking all over, really messy, kissing each other with your cock between us, drooling all over your cock. Fuck, it’s so good. And when you come the priest goes crazy for your spunk, he loves it, can’t stop licking it all up and we lick it clean. How about that Moony? Would you like that? Feeding that poor bastard your come.”

 

Remus groans, breathless and struggling to string together the words he needs. “Don’t-- stop.”

 

“Yeah. You like that filthy shit, huh Moony? Such a good boy sitting in church and thinking about coming down the priest’s throat. How about this Moony? Instead of that walking part, with the bread, it’s just your come, we’re all waiting in line to lick your cock clean.”

 

“Fuuuuck,” Remus comes with a groan and clutches at Sirius, feeling a little like he might cry. “Fuck, do you have any idea how fucking irreverent that is?” he asks, still breathing hard through the reverberations of a spectacular orgasm. “I love you. I fucking love you.”

 

Sirius holds him tight against his body, and just hums. “I’ve got some idea.”

 

Remus presses every inch of his flushed body against Sirius’ and pulls the covers up over them. They lie still. Remus listens to their breathing even out and watches the clouds out the window and presses soft chaste kisses to Sirius’ chest every once in a while.

 

He’s drifting into the kind of not-quite sleep where his thoughts are odd and absurd when Sirius starts stroking slowly along Remus’ spine. After long warm moments he says, “Is it really that bad Moony?”

 

It takes Remus a moment to figure out what he’s asking. “A bit sacrilege, yeah. You just replaced the literal body and blood of Christ with my spunk.”

 

“Yeah but, I’ve barely heard of this bloke. Am I supposed to care about him more than I care about you? That’s crazy. Never met him.”

 

Remus smiles at Sirius’ facetious irreverence, a little show put on for Remus’ benefit. “Mm hmm,” he hums doubtfully, hoping it will egg Sirius on.

 

It does, but not how Remus expects. Sirius gets softer, pulls Remus closer to him, leaning over top of him, cradling him between the bed and his body, his fair falling over Remus just the way Sirius knows he loves. “I know part of the appeal is how dirty it feels, but I’m not really joking. What’s so wrong with your body? That it can’t mean the same thing to me as those people standing in line for that weird wafer thing?”

 

“I don’t know,” Remus says, and as he says it realizes he really doesn’t know.

 

“What do people want from that wafer? What do they get out of it?”

 

Remus hums. “It’s a lot of things, I think. People have different reasons. I think for a lot of people it’s just going through the motions. The idea is that you’re taking something sacred into your body, and that’s a part of your salvation, I suppose. I think my mum probably thinks of it as something that helps her live better, like she can leave church every week with a fresh start and a little dose of holiness that helps her be the kind of person she wants to be.”

 

And when he lays it out like that, he’s even more unsure. The lines between all kinds of little ceremonies start blurring: his morning cup of coffee, Sirius’ words and fingers and cock pressing into his body, blowing kisses with Harry to the picture of James and Lily hung by the door every time they leave the flat, running his finger over the table of contents of a new textbook.  

 

Sirius smiles down at him like he can see the revelation taking root in Remus’ brain and Remus pulls him into another kiss, feeling very much like they should shag all afternoon.


	4. chapter four

_Remus follows his dad into his house. It always smells faintly like too powerful cleaning charms and anytime he leaves a book or a pair of socks by the couch he finds them whisked away to his room. He doesn’t set down his trunk with this in mind._

 

_The front room is just as tidy as always, bookshelves with books by genre, alphabetized by author. Throw pillows exactly in each corner of the couch, like they’ve just been fluffed, a single book on the coffee table, his dad’s reading glasses laid on top. No cups of tea or soft blankets thrown over the couch or a pair of shoes left by the door._

 

_There’s also no twinkle lights or Christmas tree, no wreath on the door, not even a calendar on the wall with a wintery picture. Remus looks around the bare room. “Have you been busy?” he asks, trying to find his way around his real question, which is: why aren’t there any Christmas decorations? He knows his father can afford them._

 

_“Not especially, no,” his dad says._

 

_“Oh.” Remus switches his trunk to his other hand. “Do you want help? Putting up the decorations?”_

 

_Lyall Lupin laughs. “Aren’t you getting a little old for all that? It’s just an overblown capitalist frenzy. Don’t tell me you’re still going to church with your mum?”_

 

_Remus does a shake-shrug kind of thing and says he’ll go put his trunk away. Lyall says he’s ordering curry for dinner and to come down in a little while._

 

_Remus is still going to church with his mum, not that he particularly likes it. But that’s besides the point. Plenty of wizards don’t go to church or believe in much of anything and they still put up lights and give gifts and have a nice meal. They’ll probably eat curry for Christmas lunch, and Remus likes curry, it’s a bit of a treat because he and mum never order out, but… it’s about the effort._

 

_But he knows his dad is right-- big capitalist frenzy or whatever. He knows the radio and telly and tube adverts get to be a bit much, and maybe buying a tree you know you’re going to throw away is a stupid tradition. And it’s not like he believes in God so all the not-capitalist-frenzy traditions are sort of a drag too._

 

_Remus reads until it’s time for curry and doesn’t mention Christmas again._

 

_Lyall is at work so Remus arranges for Sirius to floo over-- they’re both breaking rules. Sirius probably isn’t telling his parents he’s going anywhere, faking sick or something, and Remus isn’t telling Lyall, but unlike Sirius, not for any other reason than he doesn’t particularly feel like it and Lyall probably wouldn’t listen anyway._

 

_Sirius walks in stamping soot from his boots on his dad’s immaculate beige tiled fireplace and Remus grins and hugs him._

 

_“Why is this place so depressing?” Sirius asks, hands stuffed into his leather jacket pockets._

 

_Remus rolls his eyes. “Because Christmas is a capitalist construct that I’m too old for.”_

 

_“Oh bugger that,” Sirius says, “Grab your coat. We should be stuffing our faces full of treacle tart.”_

 

_Not even two minutes later they’re stepping through the brick arch behind the Leaky Cauldron and into the heavy scent of pine and cinnamon of Diagon Alley at Christmastime, grinning and pink-cheeked already from the biting wind._

 

_“Where to Moony?”_

 

***

 

 _Pa-rum-pa-pa-pum, Pa-rum-pa-pa-pum_ is playing in Remus head at a much more frantic beat than traditional, in part because that’s the pace Remus is walking at, eager to get out of the cold, and in part because Harry has been _pa-rum-pa-pa-pumming_ at the top of his lungs all week. He shouts it, getting faster and faster and could probably keep it up as accompaniment to the entirety of the wise men’s desert journey on slow-moving camels.

 

And they put up with it because the way Harry is popping his p’s is progress, hard won, desperately desired progress. The speech therapist says it’s good for Harry to play with language. So, _pa-rum-pa-pa-pum_ it is, for as long as it takes.

 

But Remus will still blame Sirius for subjecting them to this with his inability to discern between good Bowie and bad, terrible seasonal Bowie.

 

Remus apparates to the alleyway by their flat and sprints up the stairs. All his grades are in, he’s had his meeting with Dr. Doge, and returned some library books he could no longer keep checked out. He’s _done_. And very much looking forward to a bit of time on the couch with a cup of tea.

 

He opens the door to find Sirius bundling Harry into thick corduroy overalls which are pulled taut over two layers of wool sweaters and his cute toddler potbelly. Harry is fussing about all the extra clothing and keeps twisting away when Sirius tries to snap the buckles into place. Sirius gives up for a moment and grins up at Remus.

 

“I think we should get the tree.”

 

“Right now?”

 

“Yep!” Sirius says, hoisting Harry up by the armpits and Remus manages to quickly buckle the overalls.

 

“But--” Remus says. _It’s cold and I’m tired and I literally just finished the semester._

 

“I can’t dress Harry in all these clothes again. I can’t, Remus. He’s all ready to go so we’re going.”

 

“It’s raining.”

 

“Grab your coat!” Sirius shouts on his way down the stairs.

 

Remus stands in the middle of the room for a moment, longing for the blanket and hot tea he was looking forward to and then _accio_ s his coat and hat and rushes after Sirius.

 

Sirius couldn’t have picked a worse day-- gray with a cold misting sleet starting and stopping all day. It’s only a block before Remus’ nose and fingers feel stiff and frozen. Harry’s in the carrier and buttoned up in Remus’ coat but his pink and runny nose peeks out over the zipper.

 

“Have you thought about how we’re going to drag a tree home?”

 

Sirius slips his cold fingers into Remus’. “Moony, give me some credit. I always have a plan.”

 

That plan, Remus realizes as they round the corner where Sirius has assured him there are Christmas trees for sale, only to find they close at 5:00, is a terrible one.

 

“It’s closed,” Remus says humorlessly.

 

“I think I saw another place next to your mum’s.”

 

“You want to go all the way to Camden tonight?”

 

“You say it as if we’re flying to Hogwarts. It’s just a couple stops on the tube.”

 

“With a _Christmas tree,_ ” Remus says through clenched teeth.

 

“We’ll shrink it, _obviously_ ,” Sirius says, mimicking Remus’s tone.

 

Remus huffs. He’s starting to feel hungry and the combination of the cold and his empty stomach is making him think very uncharitable things about Sirius right now. “Fine,” he says morosely.

 

The tube is packed, of course, it’s 5:30. Harry starts to cry at Moorgate and continues through the next four stops and all the way up the stairs, not stopping until the cold air hits his face and Remus has resorted to singing _Pa-rum-pa-pum-pum_.

 

He glares at Sirius’s back as they walk the three blocks to the tree place, reassuring himself that he has every right to be angry. It’s inconsiderate. He could have asked, or told Remus ahead of time and Remus could have suggested a better time than 5:30 on a bloody Wednesday night to do this.

 

They’re still open.

 

There are five or six trees leaning against the side of a brick industrial looking building and an impressively built man about their age who looks sick to death of this job.

 

He waves carelessly over to the few remaining trees and says, “S’all I’ve got left, lads.”

 

Annoyingly, Sirius walks slowly down the row, lifting each tree off the wall and inspecting it for patchy branches, smelling it, bloody caressing it.

 

When he gets to the end of the row he says, “Which one should we get Harry?”

 

Harry let’s loose a string of babble, the only recognizable bit sounding a lot like _pa-rum-pa-pum-pum_.

 

“I see what you mean,” Sirius says.

 

He walks slowly up and down the row again, while Remus rubs his hands together trying to get warm. When he reaches the last tree again Remus snaps angrily, “Just pick one!”

 

To Remus’ surprise Sirius turns around with a smile on his face. “Did you just yell at me?”

 

“I didn’t yell,” Remus mumbles, face hot.

 

“Nooo, no. None of that,” Sirius says. “You got properly angry and I’m quite proud.”

 

“Shut up,” Remus says, really blushing now. “Pick out a tree and let’s go home and eat.”

 

Sirius steps a little closer and Remus’ eyes dart nervously over to the burly tree seller and back again to Sirius. “Harry and I ate before.”

 

“Good. Great. Good for you.”

 

“Oh you are angry.”

 

“Yes! Fine! Now let’s go.”

 

Sirius reaches out to touch Remus’ arm. “Why don’t you apparate back with the tree and I’ll take Harry home on the tube.”

 

Remus deflates. “No I--”

 

“Really. Go home, eat something. We’ll see you there soon.”

 

Remus searches Sirius’ face. “I guess I’m not very good company right now.”

 

“Don’t worry, I won’t let you get out of decorating.”

 

Remus manages a smile. “Deal. Now please for the love of God pick out a tree.”

 

Sirius spins around and points at a tree at random. “That one,” he tells the man.

  
  
  


Remus takes the tree home and eats something, and, bowl of stew finished, remembers he quite loves Sirius. He decides to put the tree in the stand so it’s ready for Sirius and Harry when they get home. It takes three tries and a bit of magic but it’s in the stand and Remus is fairly sure Harry won’t be able to tug it down.

 

He’s in the shower when he hears Sirius coming up the stairs and opening the bathroom door.

 

“Tree looks nice Moony,” he says.

 

Remus peeks his head out from behind the curtain. “I’m sorry about earlier.”

 

“Don’t be,” Sirius says simply. “Did you know it’s nearly 7:00? It’s someone’s bed time.”

 

“Does he need a bath?” Remus asks.

 

“Nah. He’s fine. Fresh as mugwort.” Sirius leans over and pecks Remus on the lips before he leaves and Remus can hear him telling Harry it’s time for jammies.

 

He’s turning off the water when Sirius brings Harry in to brush his teeth. As soon as he picks up the toothbrush Harry starts giving Sirius the emphatic “No!s” they’ve become very familiar with lately.

 

“Come on Harry,” Sirius tries cajoling. “You’ve got to brush your teeth. I’ll do it really fast.”

 

“NO!” 

 

Remus towels off his hair and watches as Harry squirms and turns his face away every time Sirius brings the toothbrush anywhere near his mouth.

 

Sirius stands up, abruptly. “Maybe you can get him to do it,” Sirius says, shoving the toothbrush at Remus.

 

Remus wraps the towel around his waist and sits down on the edge of the tub, trying to think of something.

 

“Umm, you need to brush your teeth Harry. Or the sugar bugs will eat them.”

 

Harry looks at Remus. “The sugar bugs.” It sounds like _uh-sugah-bugs_.

 

“The sugar bugs! Yep. They eat up sugary teeth, that’s why we have to brush them.”

 

“No! Don’t want!” Harry says, and Remus feels just the tiniest bit bad for alarming him, but mostly he’ll take this small triumph.

 

“Open up.”

 

Harry’s mouth pops open wide.

 

“Thank Merlin,” Sirius whispers.

  
  


Sirius quietly closes the door to Harry’s nursery and leans against it, yawning. Remus crowds in close, now that he’s feed and showered and warm, he’s in a different kind of mood. Tired and worn out but a little giddy too.

 

He traces his fingertips at Sirius’ waistband, just standing close, standing within the same breathing space and feeling content.

 

Sirius throws his arms over Remus’ shoulders, like it’s the last act he has energy for before he perishes. “I’m so tired.”

 

Remus kisses his neck. “I love you.”

 

Sirius laughs a little, “You’re being very affection.”

 

“Maybe I feel bad about earlier.”

 

“Don’t. It’s really nothing.”

 

“I really love you Sirius,” Remus says again, pressing his face into Sirius’ neck.

 

Sirius smoothes his hands up and down Remus’ back. “Hey, are you all right?”

 

Remus tightens his arms around Sirius’ waist. “I think so.”

 

They kiss slowly up against the door, quietly. Remus is vibrating a little with his sudden need for Sirius he wants him so much.

 

Sirius groans softly. “Of all the times to seduce me. We have so much to do.”

 

“We always have a lot to do.”

 

Instead of answering Sirius leans back in for more kissing. Breaking off when he’s panting and pushing Remus away. “You’re the worst,” he tells Remus, adjusting himself in his jeans. “I want to get this done tonight. I don’t want to do it in the morning after I’ve just been buggered all night.”

 

“Mmm, buggered all night?”

 

Sirius pushes Remus again, laughing softly as he pushes and prods Remus down the stairs.

 

“Alright! Fine, fine. What’ve we got to do?”

 

“You can start by getting me some eggnog.”

 

“With brandy?”

 

Sirius just levels a look at him.


	5. chapter five

_ “Do you want want me to roll you up like a  _ _ gołąbek _ _ or are you too old for that now?” His mum asks, shuffling in in her green robe.  _

 

_ Remus blushes and says he’s not too old and his mum smiles tenderly and tucks the edges of the blanket around Remus’ legs. He’s caught a cold this winter that just won’t let up and his mum insists on wrapping him in blankets everywhere he goes in the flat. The other night at dinner she laid a blanket over his legs at the kitchen table.  _

 

_ “Well, which one do you want to open first?” She asks him, settling on the far end of the couch next to the tree.  _

 

_ Being sick hasn’t stopped Remus from sneaking over to the Christmas tree in the last few days and weighing his presents and running his fingers carefully over the wrapping to detect the edge of a book cover, for example. One of them is heavy and Remus has been turning its weight and size over in his head the last few days and has come up with nothing. “The heavy one,” he says, unable to hide his smile.  _

 

_ His mum feigns ignorance. “This one?” She says, pointing to what Remus knows is a book.  _

 

_ He shakes his head, grinning. “No mum! That one.” _

 

_ She gently sets it on his lap and sits back again. He tears the paper and opens the lid. It’s a cauldron. Remus is careful to keep the smile on his face now, he slowly shakes the cauldron out of the box and holds it on his lap. He’s confused-- maybe his mum doesn’t know you need a wand to make potions. Maybe she thinks it’s like cooking and if he follows along with a cookbook he’ll eventually get the hang of it on his own. Remus doesn’t know it’s not like that.  _

 

_ “Thanks mum.” _

 

_ The smile his mum is giving him just confuses him further. “Why don’t you open a few more?”  _

 

_ She’s acting like there’s a secret. Is it that dad sent money for presents this year? Remus already knows his dad sends his mum money every month, or sometimes extra, if Remus’ school is going on a field trip or he needs new shoes.  _

 

_ She keeps that secretive look while Remus unwraps books about transfiguration and charms, rolls of parchment and quills and ink like dad uses, and a trunk with his initials on the outside.  _

 

_ Remus looks at her suspiciously and his mum laughs. “Don’t look so suspicious sweetheart.” She draws a letter out from her robe pocket and holds it out to Remus. “Why don’t you read this?”  _

 

_ Remus takes the letter-- parchment, not paper-- and unfolds it. _

  
  


_ Dear Mrs. Lupin, _

 

_ I’m very pleased to share with you that I have secured all the necessary bureaucratic approvals. Should Remus choose to accept, Hogwarts will welcome him next September. Please write back at your earliest convenience with your answer, as we will need to begin discussions about the best plan for full moons.  _

 

_ Cordially,  _

 

_ Professor  Dumbledore _

  
  


_ Remus looks up at his mum, still smiling at him. He’s stunned. More confused than ever. It’s not adding up.  _

 

_ “He knows--?” Remus asks his mum. His mum nods, tears forming in the corners of her eyes, smile impossibly wide. “And--?” Remus doesn’t dare ask it.  _

 

_ “And you can go to Hogwarts.” Her voice breaks and she laughs a little. Remus crawls over on the couch and smushes his face into her soft green robe. He’s trying not to cry so he can’t say anything yet. He has to wait until the lump in his throat goes away.  _

 

_ “I can really go to Hogwarts?” _

 

_ “You really can,” his mum assures him. “If that’s what you want.” _

 

_ Remus doesn’t understand why he wouldn’t want to go-- except, oh, he’ll miss his mum-- but  _ Hogwarts _.  _

 

_ “I want to go.” _

 

_ “Oh good, I wouldn’t want that cauldron to go to waste,” his mum jokes. She hesitates a moment, then says, “You won’t be able to tell anyone. It might feel lonely sometimes.” _

 

_ Remus nods but he’s already kept this secret for a long time, and he’d have to keep it at a muggle secondary school too. And his muggle secondary school wouldn’t be a castle with talking portraits. It seems like an obvious choice. _

 

_ “Does dad know?” _

 

_ “He does.” _

 

_ “And? Did he say anything?”  _

 

_ “I’m not sure honey. He sent a card, maybe in there.”  _

 

_ Remus opens a card with a few crisp five pound notes and a Love, Dad. Remus stuffs the card and money back into the envelope. He wants to hide it from his mum, but when he looks up at her it’s like she already knows. She doesn’t make him say it.  _

 

_ “How does hot chocolate sound?”  _

 

_ “Thanks, mum.” _

 

_ His mum shuffles into the kitchen. He can hear her making hot chocolate and boiling a pot of water, probably for the cabbage. He looks over at their little tree, on the coffee table, a white tinsel tree with lights and a collection of paper, cardboard, and glitter ornaments Remus has brought home from school over the years.  _

 

_ His mum. Hogwarts. Dad. It’s a little too much. Remus pulls over his new charms textbook and starts reading. He sinks into his books all day, so he doesn’t have to notice anything else settling into him.  _

 

***

 

_ The kitchen is even brighter than usual, with twinkle lights overzealously magicked over the already bright fluorescent lights so that looking up results in long moments of dizzying green spots. The countertops are crowded with abandoned cups with varying amounts of liquor and it’s hard to find a still unused cup. Remus needs water to wash away the now sour taste of eggnog coating his tongue.  _

 

_ The night is in full swing, shouted conversations happening in every cluster of pink cheeked, glassy eyed Order members, relaxing a bit, for once. It’s already been a Christmas party for the books and it’s not yet midnight-- The Prewett twins have been lighting a steady stream of fireworks all night, Dorcas Meadowes disappeared for a long time and emerged from a dark hallway followed by Marlene McKinnon in a noticeably stretched out jumper.  _

 

_ And James and Lily announced they’re having a baby. First to Remus, Sirius, and Peter huddled together in the entryway of Gideon Prewett’s house, and then shouted to the rest of the party, toasted all around all evening. James is absolutely pissed.  _

 

_ Remus leans in the doorway of the kitchen and watches Sirius’ laughing face lit by purple, green, and gold bursts and wonders if he’s imagining that Sirius is struggling to hide away the same thoughts Remus desperately wants to get rid of and can’t.  _

 

_ They’re overjoyed, all of them, of course they are, but Caradoc Dearborn is missing, just vanished, and Mundungus is still unresponsive at St. Mungo’s, and just last week Lily came over to Remus’ flat and sobbed uncontrollably on his couch while the tea he’d made her turned stone cold and Remus hadn’t known what else to do. Had she known then that she was having a baby during a war? Remus has never worried about his emotions showing on his face but he’s worried about it tonight.  _

 

_ “Sirius!” James shouts, coming up behind Sirius and clapping him on the back, or maybe holding on to his shoulder to keep from falling down. James is shouting into Sirius’ ear but it’s drowned out by Paul McCartney simply having a wonderful Christmas time. Remus grimaces. Who put this shite on? And could the sentiment be any further from their actual lives?  _

 

_ Remus prefers Christmas songs filled with centuries worth of sorrowful longing for something to hope for. Not hope itself, but the desperation that you might someday have some. Not very good party music though.  _

 

_ He takes another sip of water and watches as Sirius turns to hug James tightly, tears in his eyes as they both hold on for a long time. Only letting go when Lily comes over to take James home. They make the rounds of goodbyes, congratulations echoed. Remus says goodbye too, still looking over Lily’s shoulder at Sirius, whose eyes are still bright with tears. Sirius walks them out.  _

 

_ Remus thinks about leaving too. He’s tired and tired of being drunk and ready to poke at his thoughts in a quiet room. Sirius comes back in, weaving through the party, saying goodbyes with hugs, and clasps on the back, laughing with his head thrown back. He looks beautiful and Remus lingers in the doorway wondering if tonight will be one of those nights.  _

 

_ Sirius walks right up to him in the doorway and Remus doesn’t move. Standing very still as Sirius leans in, to say in his ear, “I’ll go home with you, yeah?” And Remus nods, suddenly dying to have Sirius in his bed and like he might cry if he went home alone.  _

 

_ Sirius crowds close to him outside, choosing to wrap an arm around Remus and suck hot kisses onto his neck to apparate. When they land on Remus’ doormat though, Sirius steps back and they go inside, quiet, tired. _

 

_ Remus fills up two glasses of water and they drink them silently in the kitchen, watching each other with solemnity. Sirius is shaken up by the news too, though Remus suspects for slightly different reasons; angry maybe, that the reckless joy he comes by naturally is being so relentlessly beaten down by tense days waiting, punctuated by disappearances and injuries, and underscored by the pervasive horror that they might not win. _

 

_ “They’re having a baby,” Remus says, finally.  _

 

_ Sirius shakes his head, trying to smile but it’s flickering, until he gives up and wraps his arms around himself. “They’re having a baby,” he echoes.  _

 

_ Sirius shuffles forward and tucks his head into Remus’ neck. Remus can hear his breathing catch; he’s trying not to cry. Remus stands there, with his arms around Sirius, his helplessness in this shitty situation doubled now that Sirius cracking too. He rubs his back and let’s him cry and when he’s quiet and breathing evenly Remus tugs him back to his room.  _

 

_ Sirius stands in the middle of the room. He looks exhausted. His eyes are begging Remus to do something about it. Remus slips Sirius’ jacket off and then his tee shirt, and gently whispers a spell to unlace his boots while Remus carefully unbuttons his tight jeans and wiggles them off his thin frame. Remus even crouches down to pull the jeans off around Sirius’ ankles, and Sirius leans over with one arm on Remus’ shoulder and lets him. He stands shivering in his pants until Remus takes his hand and tugs him into bed.  _

 

_ Once in bed it’s like Sirius has suddenly woken up and he’s frantically running his hands all over Remus, over his hip and up his back, cupping his neck, fingers threaded through his hair, gripping his thigh to hike it up over him, clutching at him but never lingering.  _

 

_ Remus holds Sirius’ face between his hands, trying to soothe him but he can’t think of anything comforting and true. He can’t say it’ll be alright because he’s sure it won’t be and that knowledge is choking him. He understands Sirius’ urgency. He understands James and Lily’s urgency too. They’re holding on to the last bit of good they can find; Remus holds on to Sirius tighter, both arms clutching him to his body, and kisses him.  _

 

***

 

Incense floats thick in the air and the chill is quickly melting away in the midst of so many warm bodies. Children in stiff Christmas clothes and little patent shoes, squirming and delighted, the choir loft full, papers and feet shuffling into place. His mum is next to him, not smelling of garlic and bleach water but of perfume, a powdery sort of scent that Remus remembers from every Christmas and Easter mass he’s been to his whole life. What does he smell like to Harry he wonders? 

 

Remus reaches out for Harry, a small lump in his throat telling him he wants Harry close. Remus had held him early this morning while Sirius fried the bacon and just looked at his sleeping face. His formless baby nose is giving way to a high bridge that is distinctly James. His hair too, just grows wilder and wilder. But he still has a round belly and soft dimpled hands, flat feet, his cheeks still carry some baby fat. 

 

Instead of the organ, Remus hears the gentle sound of a piano starting  _ Away In a Manger _ and then the next few notes are drowned out by the overwhelming crowd of people standing up at once. He knows the words to these songs by heart, everyone does, he’s sung  _ Away In a Manger _ at the beginning of Christmas mass his entire life. 

 

But Remus feels something new, thinking of a baby lying in a bed of hay, the smell of cow shit, and his parents tired and persecuted. He thinks of Harry, the conditions Harry has survived and how much he loves him and how his already bleeding heart has grown so much softer since loving a child--  _ No crib for a bed _ \-- Remus thinks he might cry with the weight of the injustices carried in that line, the homeless men and women they passed on the way here, no jobs for a werewolf, Hagrid, living just on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, far away from the castle, Lily not allowed to live, no place in this church for two gay men and their child. 

 

Except, here they are, sitting here. Just like Sirius said. They’re occupying this space, filling it with thoughts of their love and letting their little family be seen, even if it’s not understood, and for the first time, Remus thinks that if there is a God, He understands the broken hearted, that there’s room in some deity’s heart for people who don’t belong anywhere else. He can’t really believe it, doesn’t really believe in God, but for a little while he believes his hurt is understood here. He can believe in a history of people singing  _ No crib for a bed  _ and the cumulative hurts they hold and mourn for. 

 

His thumb and forefinger make the sign of the cross over his forehead, lips, and heart of their own accord, following along in the rites of penance, but Remus’ mind doesn’t follow after. 

 

Instead, he thinks of this morning, giving Harry the toy broom again, each of them holding one of his hands as he flew slowly around the room, clutching tight to them. And by the time they had to leave for his mum’s, flying around with Sirius running after him, giggling madly and then, screaming fiercely when they had to leave it at home. 

 

And he thinks of standing in the kitchen with his mum this morning, looking at the framed picture of all of them hung right next to the Pope. How she’d said, “You and Sirius look very happy together.” And Remus had found the words to say they are, voicing to his mum for the first time both that they are happy, and they are together. 

 

Harry has his hands in Remus’ hair, ruffling it this way and that, and Sirius catches his eye like he wants to laugh and Remus feels the malignant cloud of the guilt gathered in his chest give way, disperse, and he reaches out for Sirius’ hand. He slides their fingers together and holds on tight, almost shaking. He doesn’t let go all through mass, afraid and embarrassed and thrilled and so, so in love. 

 

Swimming in his own dazed bravery and the quiet consuming thrill of breaking the rule, loving Sirius  _ here _ , the rest of the mass passes by him, fleeting background noise to the holiness of Sirius’ love and their own little holy family, two gay men, leather and a threadbare jumper, a little jumper with a splotch of jam, a little boy with that same jam still on his chin, smiling and bouncing on his mum’s lap. They stand for the final procession, Harry on his mum’s hip, and his mum reaches out to hold his other hand. They stand there, solid and still, linked together in a chain of a loving rebellion. 

 

And Remus cries a little then, finally breaking the vigil over their own self-respect to raise Sirius’ hand to his face and wipe his wet cheeks on it. The smile Sirius gives him. Remus doesn’t look at anyone else on his way out, turns his eyes only to that smile Sirius is sending him. 

 

Out on the pavement Remus stretches up to kiss him, light but lingering. Sirius brings his hands up to Remus’ face, thumbs swiping over his cheeks. “Are you alright?” he asks quietly. 

 

Remus exhales and nods, embarrassed but not that much, really. His mum is giving him a look he knows well: adoration, her son that she’s raised and is proud of. 

 

Remus exhales again and laughs. “Right. Christmas lunch?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to everyone who was reading along as this was posted. your comments really helped keep me going. 
> 
>  
> 
> i've been flagged in the tumblr purge so i'm going to write the notes i would write there, here instead.
> 
> a year ago i wrote a note to myself to write a fic about remus lupin and church guilt. when i started my fluffy advent fic i didn't realize that story would show up here. but of course it did. because this a hard time of year-- visiting people who don't understand you, participating in traditions that mean something different to you in your queer adulthood than they did when you were a child. deciding not to participate in those traditions anymore.
> 
> i was also thinking about decisions we make that don't prioritize happiness, or wellness, or seem particularly smart, because we've chosen to prioritize something else instead. decisions where those distinctions are really blurry. madame pomfrey letting remus leave the hospital wing early, remus choosing to go to church with his mum anyway, james and lily deciding to have a baby during the war, participating in the great capitalist frenzy of it all, etc. etc.
> 
> anyway! thank you for reading! hang in there! pa rum pa pum pum!
> 
> bbd


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